


Softly Spoken into the Night

by Fenchurch87



Series: The Eye of the Storm [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch87/pseuds/Fenchurch87
Summary: Rickard Trevelyan plans a grand gesture in a bid to win Cassandra's heart. Originally written in response to a writing prompt on /r/dragonage.





	Softly Spoken into the Night

_Enough candles to fill a Chantry, Maker knows how many rose petals, and poetry._ Rickard paced among the trees, book in hand, repeating the lines to himself over and over again. _If a courtship is what Cassandra wants, then a courtship is what she will get._

At least, that was what he hoped. Knowing him, he would most likely trip over both his own tongue and his own feet and fall flat on the ground in a stuttering, floundering heap. Romance wasn't exactly his strong suit. Fighting, that was what he was good at. Fighting, and telling jokes.

A lock of hair flopped forward in front of his eyes, and he flicked it away with a sigh. Perhaps he should have tied it back. Cassandra didn't seem to approve of his hair. _Ridiculous_ , that was the word she had used.

Light footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Cassandra walking into the grove, looking about her, on her guard as always. He brushed his hair back one last time, tightened his grip on the book in a hopeless bid to stop his hands from shaking, and stepped out of his hiding place.

“ _On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath_.” The words flowed easily, to his surprise, without a hesitation or a tremor. He relaxed a little as he took another step into the clearing.

“ _It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover's kiss_ ,” he continued, risking a glance at Cassandra. She had stopped in her tracks and was staring at him, a hand covering her mouth. He almost laughed.

“ _It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss_ ,” he finished, sinking to his knees at Cassandra's feet.

“You can't be serious,” she muttered, but he thought he saw a spark of amusement in her eyes.

“I am absolutely serious.” He beamed up at her.

“And _that's_ the poem you chose?” There was no mistaking it now; laughter had crept into her voice.

“What's wrong with it?”

Cassandra merely shook her head and held out her hands. He passed her the book and watched as she glanced through the pages. “ _Carmenum di Amatus_. I thought this one was banned.”

Rickard jumped to his feet, heat spreading over his face to the very tips of his ears. He knew the poem. “You are not–” he began.

Cassandra held up a hand to silence him. “ _His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer_ ,” she recited softly. “ _Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night_.”

He gazed at her, transfixed. There was a tenderness in her voice that he had never heard before, a gentleness that gave it an almost dreamlike quality. He walked slowly around the clearing, his eyes never straying from her, taking in her long legs, her muscular arms, her exquisite curves that the armour failed to hide completely. He swallowed hard, trying to stop the somersaults that were suddenly turning in his belly. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“ _His eyes reflect the heaven's stars, the Maker's ligh_ t,” Cassandra read, her gaze following him as he continued to walk. “ _My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there_.” She paused and looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“ _Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life_.” He moved closer, close enough to wrap his arms around her waist, close enough to whisper in her ear. “Shall we read another?”

She turned slowly, a smile flitting across her face, and then she kissed him. As soon as her lips touched his, he knew he was lost forever. Nothing mattered now, nothing except her presence in his arms and the feel of her mouth against his, kisses sweeter than any honey, more intoxicating than any wine. And then, suddenly, amidst giggles and surprised gasps, they were lying on the ground.

“Cassandra,” he whispered, staring into her deep brown eyes. He lightly traced his fingertips along the scar on her left cheek, softly pressed his lips to the smaller one on her right. _Scars_ was the wrong word, he decided. They accentuated her beauty, illuminating her perfect features instead of detracting from them. They were _embellishments_.

“Cassandra,” he said again. “Is this– I mean, do you want–”

She cut him off with another kiss. Her fingers glided through his hair, and he allowed himself a moment of smugness. Perhaps wearing it loose had been the right decision after all.

“Was that a yes?” he asked with a grin as they briefly moved apart.

Cassandra rolled her eyes impatiently and shifted her attention to the buttons on his jacket. “It was.”

 


End file.
